Among the Trees: Finding Solace in the Light

 On my first day back from California, I took myself for a walk at Colonial Park.  New Jersey has had a mild Winter and there were signs of Spring everywhere. 

Since I’ve been home, I’ve kept an eager eye out for additional hints of green and warmth.  When I see them, I feel a tiny surge of hope.  

That’s nice, because it’s been a bit of a hard patch for me.  I’ve had a bunch of small challenges in the past two weeks.  My head knows that they are small in the big scheme but my heart lets the hurts add up and that finds me doubting myself, my worth, and my place in this world.  

I know the remedy:  rest and time outside.  With Spring Break starting at the end of this week, I’ll have the time for both.  There are people who depend on me and people who love me and I know and feel this.  I plan to lean in to the support.  I’m a regular champ at self-care and I have a list of small treats for the coming weeks.  I know the light can be found and I’ll be looking for it in the coming weeks.

The Sunshine Sweet Spot

The last few days have been cloudy and rainy with late-Winter gloom; the cold has returned.  Given the fact that it’s still February, a blast of arctic air, though unwelcome, seems like a reasonable development.  I am toughing it out.

For one thing, March and Sassafras Spring are on the horizon.  For another, we’ve reached the point of 12 hours of daily sunlight, which feels like victory over Winter.  The days are getting longer in increments that involve minutes on each side at both sunrise and sunset.  The extra light is especially welcome in the morning, when I begin to see the sunlight around 6:15.  When the sky is clear, I stand in the kitchen with my coffee to watch the sun pull itself over the horizon and I feel glad for the coming season.  Sunlight and Spring are the regular gifts of March and I am glad they are close at hand.

Winter's Lights

In the post-Christmas days, as the amount of light in our days lingers at barely 9 hours, I find comfort in the twinkling lights that glow in my home.  There are lights on the front porch.

A string of fairy lights in a glass hobnail jar is tucked among the plants that have come inside for the frosty season.

There is candlelight throughout the house in the form of glowing electronic candles that I enjoy immensely; they are a cozy pool of light that make Winter’s darkness less daunting.   A candlestick shines in each of the front windows.  I've tucked another into a metal house that sits by the front window.

In the dining room, another candle flickers in the hurricane lantern.

Winter’s short, dark days can sometimes darken my mood.  I consult my sunrise/sunset calendar and remind myself that the daylight will eventually begin to lengthen.  But it’s the tiny lights in the house that provide the most comfort in these dark Winter months.

That's happy!

Sunbathing

Yesterday morning, one of the backyard squirrels was stretched out on the handrail of the back deck, sunning himself.

I made this picture from inside so as not to disturb him.  Private squirrel sunbathing is a thing.

Bring Me the Sunlight

I have always loved the long days of Summer, for lots of reasons but especially because of the sunlight, which seems abundant, as if the days are actually longer and I needn’t rush to get things done.  In 2014, I travelled to Scandinavia in June, at the height of Summer solstice, when sunlight lingers for more than 18 hours.  I loved it, and so did the locals, who seemed to celebrate the light on a whole new level.  I realized that 18 hours of sunlight was their well-earned reward for Winter days with barely 6 hours of sun.  There I was in a Scandinavian June, soaking in sunlight I had hardly earned.  I should have felt guilty but instead I turned my face to the light.  This picture was made at 2 am on the Baltic Sea. 

This photo of my mom and a chubby-cheeked JT was made at 10 pm at Catherine the Great’s Winter Palace outside of St. Petersburg, Russia.  The second was made after our tour, at just past midnight. This is just one corner of the palace, by the way.  Catherine didn’t live modestly.

Since that experience, I’ve been even more aware of the sunlight in my corner of the world.  We'll never have 18 hours between sunrise and sunset, but today is a day worth marking on our journey to the June solstice.  Today, we will achieve 12 hours of light.  Moving forward, we’ll have two to three extra minutes of sunlight every day from now until the Summer solstice in June.  That’s plenty of time to soak up the light.

February 1: Hostas in the Winter

Each month this year, I’m having a look at the hosta beds in my garden and writing about them.  As it turns out, the outward difference between hosta beds in January and February is negligible.  It’s been a month of Winter’s cold and darkness.  Most often, I view the hosta beds from the comfort of the cozy indoors, where garden catalogs promise that the next season will be lovely, even while the garden this month is still.

And yet, I know the days are slowly creeping toward more light, a transition I mark in my journal each day.  Today, the sun rose at 7:09 am and set at 5:16 pm, with light lingering afterward.  That’s more light than January 1st, when the sun rose at 7:22 am and set at 4:42 pm.  By the end of February, the sun will rise at 6:34 am and set at 5:48 pm, taking us from just over 11 hours of daylight in the day to just over 12 hours.  It’s a glorious promise.

Gardening has taught me to plan for the future but also to appreciate the here and now.  It takes Winter’s cold to prepare my hostas for Spring and Summer growth.  In much the same way, cold Winter days makes Spring’s warmth that much more pleasing to experience.  For now, I do my best to wait patiently, enjoying each day, secure in the promise that there is sunlight and growth still to come.

On Morning Light

I am an early riser and when school is in session I am typically out of the shower and headed downstairs for coffee by 5:45 in the morning.  For much of the school year I spent the start of my day in inky darkness.  But come April, the steady lengthening days ensure light in the early morning and my first cup of coffee is served with a sunrise.  These days are often crammed with busy activities.  The surface of my desk has been long lost to me; my to-do list is ridiculously long.  But each morning, I watch for that first glimpse of the sun and the day feels new.  That’s happy!

Amaryllis Tuesday: Week Seven, February 7

This past week, I moved some of my plants around to ensure that they can soak in all the Winter light that is available.  The amaryllis has joined a fuchsia and schefflera on my plant stand.  The amaryllis can use the support as it grows taller every day.  

These pictures were made in the early morning today, well before the sunlight began to peak over the horizon.  I remind myself that the days are growing steadily longer, a fact that both the amaryllis and I embrace.

This bulb has grown rapidly and I expect the flower will show itself by the end of this month.  That’s happy!

Solstice

Two years ago, my family made a trip to Europe to celebrate my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary.  We were on a cruise ship in the Baltic Sea and visited Denmark, Norway, Germany, Estonia, Russia, Finland, and Sweden just as these countries were celebrating the longest days of their year.  There was sunlight for nearly 19 hours of the day during the June solstice and I was utterly charmed by the magical length and light of those days.  As the local celebrations of the sunlight went on around us, I  felt a bit like it was cheating to enjoy those glorious days.  After all, I hadn’t been around for the long dark and cold days in December, where there was barely six hours of weak sunlight to mark the day.   I felt like I hadn’t quite earned the right to celebrate the long, lit days.

But celebrate I did, enjoying the way in which the light brought an unreal feeling to the long days.  In St. Petersburg, we saw Catherine’s Palace in the evening;  these pictures were made at nearly 10 pm.  The palace is unreal in any light, but at 10 pm it was ethereal in its beauty.

When the ship left St. Petersburg on its way to Helsinki, Finland, we sailed at night but the sky and sea held the light and I recall stepping outside my room past 1 am, when this picture was made.

In Stockholm, Sweden, the sky was cloudy that day, but it was clear that the plants had absorbed the light of the long days  My hostas never look this large in June.

The 2014 trip showed me of the power of sunlight in my life.  It reminded me to take time to get outside in every season, to enjoy Mother Nature’s sunlit offerings, appreciate the solstice, and turn my face to the light.

The Changing Pace of My Days

All summer long, I woke up to the morning’s sunlight and sat out on the front porch with a book and my cup of coffee.  The lazy mornings seemed to stretch endlessly.  I’d enjoy an extra chapter of a good book while my neighbors took leisurely walks with their dogs.  Cars that drove by didn’t seem in a hurry to be anywhere.  Long days with 15-plus hours of sunlight helped us relax and feel the luxury of summer.  As the summer wore on, my lazy mornings were less bright and I could see and feel that the sunlight was starting later and fading earlier.  

Though I work most of the summer, the start of school ensures that my days take on an all-together different pace.  I like the quiet of a longer morning but to steal those moments for myself means that I awaken at 5:30 am.  In September, that hour is still dark.  I don’t have time for 3 cups of coffee and endless page-turning on the front porch but the mornings are still warm, so I take my first cup of coffee outside.  It’s dark and I have to read a few pages by the light of the porch lamp.  I’m not the only person whose day has begun.  

Neighbors walk their dogs, but with purpose now.  Cars drive by in a hurry to get wherever it is they are going.  As the morning’s darkness fades and the sun rise ensures a growing sliver of light to brighten the day, I slip inside and move with a purpose myself: I turn on NPR and make breakfast, empty the dishwasher, feed the cats, read a few work e-mails, dry my hair, and get ready for work.  My long day has begun.

There is a Pam Houston essay (“Breaking the Ice”) in which she refers to the autumnal equinox as a day that induces, “….nothing but a flat-out panic that we are about to enter the long slide into darkness that feels like an annual survival test.”  I know that feeling; I sense that I am not alone on these dim September mornings when the world starts its hustle in the darkness.  By the end of next week, we’ll be down to 12 hours of light a day.  The minutes of sunlight will shrink in the months ahead.  Eventually, we’ll leave for school in the darkness and come home in that same dark.

I remind myself that soon enough December 21 will arrive and though it will be winter, the shorter daylight will gradually begin to lengthen.  The days and months on the calendar will slip by and March will arrive.  As Houston writes of the spring equinox, “…March 21 is the only truly joyful day: twelve hours of daylight and nothing but clear sailing ahead.”  I feel the same way.  Year after year, come fall I remind myself that Mother Nature marks time as she pleases; we’re all along for the ride but on the matter of daylight we are not in charge.

Your Weekly Amaryllis: Week Six

Our weekly allotment of sunlight grows by a few minutes each day and I am embracing the earlier sunrises and later sunsets.  We’re no longer driving to and from school in inky darkness and despite the bone-chilling cold that has wrapped itself around us this week, the light feels hopeful.  And speaking of hopeful...

…..my amaryllis  grew by inches this past week.  The results are impressive.  At six weeks, the bulb has taken off and each morning when I come downstairs it seems like I can actually see its daily progress.  That’s happy!

Tiger and Sunlight

February seems prepared to wring the most chill out of its short 28 days.  Another cold snap is headed our way this week.  It will start with icy rain and sleet tonight and the forecast promises single digit temperatures by the end of the week.  Tiger isn’t fretting about any of this, sure in the knowledge that his kibble bowl will stay full and confident that somewhere in the house, the sun will shine in to warm him.

I’m jealous.

Oslo

On Sunday, the ship sailed up the fjord that brings one to Oslo harbor.  I expected Norway to look a lot like Denmark but I was mistaken.  Like Denmark, it was clean and the people were incredibly friendly; English seemed to be spoken everywhere.  Unlike Denmark, it was much more hilly with loads of trees, including pine forests with thick green undergrowth.  The sail up the fjord featured the most lovely views under an amazing blue sky.

Lots of the homes and churches we saw were painted a crisp white with red tile roofs, much like this building in the harbor.  We couldn’t decide if this one was a school or a church but it was awfully charming.

Just across from the ship’s dock was a medieval fort built in 1100 that eventually became a castle with extensive grounds.  

Downtown, the buildings were lovely, in a variety of soft colors,  though it was a Sunday and most were closed.

We had a tour which took us through the city to a number of sights.  At the Viking ship museum, we saw preserved sailing vessels.

We drove up the mountain to see a ski jump.  My picture didn’t turn out, but let’s just say that it was steep and shiny and quite impressive.  Having watched plenty of Olympics, I know that the Norwegians love their skiing sports and given the tour guide’s descriptions of the Norwegian winters, I guess that’s a good thing.

Having spent 5 months in the snow and even longer with winter sunlight that lasts less than 7 hours a day, the Norwegians clearly enjoy the 18 hours of sunshine the summer brings.  There were loads of people soaking up the sun in the Vigeland Sculpture Garden that we visited.

All in all, Oslo was a charming city in a beautiful nation.